A Baptism By Fire
by LongridgePen
Summary: A brief glimpse of how Edward Fairfax Rochester reacted to the departure of his beloved Jane Eyre following his revelation of his living wife.


_Characters within this piece belong entirely to the wonderful Charlotte Bronte. _

**"I indeed baptise you with water unto repentance: but he that cometh after me is mightier that I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptise you witht the Holy Ghost, and with fire." - Matthew 3:11**

When it had eventually become unbearable, I abandoned the pursuit of pacing my chambers, and left for Jane's room. As I closed my bed chambers door, I realised that if it was not for the cancellation of our marriage ceremony, not for my wicked untruthfulness and my Jane's morality , not for the lunatic in the attic whom was branded into the unbreakable chains of law as my wife – that perhaps I would not have even been awake at that specific hour, but led in unmitigated bliss with my new girl bride. Or, perhaps I could have even have been awake, still conversing with the nymph I had surrendered my complete and unrelenting heart to. Indeed, just the thought of such heavenly visions made my heart ache for my Jane.

"Jane," I whispered involuntarily, as I thought of her chaste kisses that had littered my face from her rosebud lips just days previously. As I approached the corridor leading to her room, I paused to regulate my breathing. I had not an inkling of how I was to continue in this life without my Castor, my ancient twin. By now, the sun was firmly rising against the cobalt sky. If I knew my Jane as I thought I did, I estimated she would have hardly slept just as I had not, and would now be awake. With my heart heavy with longing and apprehension, I rapped upon her door. As the morning progressed I repeated this action in staggered intervals, becoming steadily more frenetic with each knock. Her silence unnerved me. Perhaps we had not departed last night on as good as terms as I had believed we had – she had asserted she had forgiven me, yet a night of considering my actions repeatedly through her brilliant mind could have aided her in reaching an alternate solution: one that insinuated she resented me. At this time it was nearing ten o'clock. Concern turned rapidly into panic as I realised that my little governess would have been, on the standard occasion, with Adele, or at least perhaps explaining to her why it was an impossibility that she could be with her entirely today, as she had some pressing matters to discuss with her master. I was awoken from my frantic thought by a gentle tug on the crease of my sleeve. My heart leapt as I expected to see Jane looking at me with her direct gaze...I could envision the steely yet slightly concerned look that would appear in her sphinx-like eyes on such an occasion. However I was greeted by none other than Adele. She herself resembled someone close to ejecting tears, confusion etched upon her face.

"Where is mademoiselle?" she enquired, looking in part fearful at addressing me so directly. I myself was too fearful to even muster any anger – my burning heart could feel ice begin to thaw its throbbing edges.

"She appears to be hiding away child. Go and find Mrs Fairfax and stay with her," I instructed. In what I believe was surprise at my hushed voice and despairing tone, the child touched my hand in a singular motion and shook it only one, in what I assume was intended to be an act of reassurance. If one had not have been in such a patronising situation, I ought to have laughed at the thought that the very bastard child of one Celine Varens was comforting me. When the child had vanished I tapped once more upon Jane's door, only this time I held my ear to the door. I could hear no breath of life, no rustle of movement, no stifled sobs or even the scratching of a pen. Attempting to deny the informants in my mind screaming that she had left me a victory, I decided at once to break down the door. However the task required little of my might, as the very door was left completely unlocked.

In that very moment, the ice that had been forming around my burning heart consumed it entirely, and shattered it into a thousand pieces. Frenzy set in, as I upturned my beloved's room to no avail. I saw her wedding dress deserted on the floorboards, and I glanced upon her tiny pearls, left abandoned on her dressing table.

I could no longer contain my devastation. She could have still been on the grounds. I threw open her windows and cried out to my beloved:

"Jane! Jane! Please, Jane!"

Rage consumed me as it had never done before. For one dangerous moment I considered throwing myself out of that very window, however sense managed to persuade me against the act. I reinserted the possibility that my poor Jane could still be within Thornfield (it was, after all, a vast place). I had reached the stage where I no longer fretted myself with what another souls – what even God himself – opinion of me was. Tears had begun to fall as I dashed through every room of Thornfield, as I alerted every servant to look for my missing treasure, and as the day came to a close they remained when I was informed the thorough search for my bride had so far been in vain.

Yet I could not allow myself to abandon the search for her. In that moment my concern was not returning my soul to her rightful place by my side, but simply establishing that she was living, and in safe company. My frozen heart allowed me to do nothing but grieve for the loss of Jane Eyre. How could I eat when I knew not of her whereabouts? How could I sleep when every instance I closed my eyes rendered the feel of her delicate little fingers on my chest, and her tiny frame in my arms, and her pure lips against my undeserving counterparts? As the days without my darling increased, and news of nothing despite desperate attempts to contact my elusive sparrow in every nearby village and areas surrounding Thornfield imaginable, the realisation that my sparrow appeared to have flown away from my grasp for eternity broke what little morality remained within me. I could no longer tolerate the presence of old Fairfax, the woman who had advised and guided my Jane, or Adele, who was now undeniably Miss Eyre's very own legacy – for Adele had been altered significantly since her arrival by that godly woman that had almost been my wife. The only human company I seemed ever to be able to bear again was that of little Jane perched on my knee, I was sure. Before the month was finished I had ridded myself of both Mrs Fairfax and Adele, although morality (ha, morality!) prevented me from doing so without the knowledge that I sent them both away to places that offered them both opportunity and happiness. I had finally achieved the solitary confinement my glaciated heart desired. I knew truly that only one being in the entirety of the earth's population had the ability to raise me from my pit of anguish.

"How can there be a God?" I asked myself. How could there be, when I had lived a life of desertion and mistreatment under my father, fear and melancholy with a woman who was bound to me seemingly forever...and the most pure and gracious love I had ever been granted was snatched away from me without a trace? My faith in the Almighty dwindled to virtual resentment. However, despite my inward pain I still found myself praying nightly that my Jane was safe, and happy, and well.

How I ached for her deliverance. Regularly I took to strolling the grounds of Thornfield until dawn approached. The mysticism of nature reminded me – painfully, but nonetheless still gave me clear vision – of my lost darling. By now, not one soul dared approach me. I was left completely undisturbed with my yearning. The unbearable agony of not knowing the whereabouts of my Jane eventually rose inside me, like the rearing serpent that tempted Eve, and transformed into savagery. Something of a warning was issued to all members of the aristocracy who I formerly held communications with to never visit, or contact me again in their lifetimes. The only contact I desired was of course with Jane Eyre.

By the months end I was a wasted man. The hot tears that streamed daily from my eyes never ceased, and the ice of my shattered heart seemed reduced to powder. Not even the temporary burn of alcohol could revive what little remained of my heart. However the whisky did somehow manage to provide some memories of my darling. It aided me in replaying the moments we shared by the fire together, and almost made it seem on occasion that her penetrating gaze was indeed bore into me once more. However, this visage was always soiled by the realisation of the likelihood I would never again meet that peculiar gaze.

I had long since treasured every item my dearest had left in her chambers. They, to me, confirmed that she had once breathed, laughed and loved within the enclose of Thornfield. My certainty that little Jane had died increased daily. One artefact I treasured so dearly was her little pearl necklace. That very necklace became something of a talisman to me. Attached to my scrag on my cravat, a small strand of evidence of the existence of my eternal love clung to my being. Whenever I managed to gift myself with slumber, I could not do so without fingering the small necklace, remembering how unworldly my lost love looked when she almost became one with my flesh.

The night arrived when I had returned from my garden wandering early. I instead changed into my bed robes and led down, weaving the sacred pearls through my fingers. As I drifted into uneasy sleep, I dreamt of her. She stood before my sleeping frame with eyes full of adoration and relief. She looked as she did in the heavenly days following our engagement, and that quaint smile of hers played on her lips I longed for once more so intensely.

"Faith", the vision whispered to me. Suddenly, fire consumed her, and she was gone, completely gone. All that remained was the dancing flames that had devoured her. Opening my eyes in confused panic, I saw only the darkness of my bed chambers. There was no sign of fire, or the presence of Jane Eyre, it seemed. I was, however, mistaken in this judgement. Only seconds later I accounted for an eerie glow emitting from the voids between the door frame. As I opened the door I was greeted with thick billowing smoke, and the angry heat of raging flame.

In that moment I had a choice. I could allow the to flame consume me. I could join my Janet now, as it was most probable that she had passed on to another life. I could join her. But how would my Janet react if I joined her, and she had watched me surrender my life without any thought or concern of any other being inside my house? The servants whom she had come to know? Even my crazed wife who was most certainly the culprit behind this devastating inferno?

My actions had been decided by none other than her. She dominated my soul even as it seemed as though it was about to be removed from my human form. I immediately ran downstairs to the servants quarters.

"Get out! Everybody get out now!"


End file.
